Paul and Lucy Spadoni periodically live in Tuscany to explore Paul’s Italian roots, practice their Italian and enjoy “la dolce vita.”
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Monday, March 21, 2016

As much as I enjoy living in Italy, one
would think I must be crazy about the great wines that are so readily
and cheaply available. Or maybe I crave the espresso and cappuccino
that Italians swear by. Not so. I enjoy an occasional glass of wine
with dinner, and I enjoy a coffee when offered. But there is one
local specialty that really does make me drool, and that is
Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, often called the “king of cheeses.”
Every time I grate some over my soup or pasta, I nip little bits of
it straight off the block. Even one little shaving makes my taste
buds sing Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus. And then one day, it dawned
on me that we live only two hours from Emilia Romagna, where this
heavenly formaggio is made. Why not go and see this miracle of
nature up close and personal?

Our friends Steve and Patti Gray were coming to see us, and we always like to plan an outing during their visits, so I checked online for guided tours in English. I found many
possibilities, but we decided to settle on a less expensive option
and go directly to one of the cheese makers. Why pay for an
interpreter when we have our bilingual friends, who are celebrating their
thirtieth year in Italy this year? I
contacted the Caseificio Sociale Il Battistero, a cheese-making farm
located in Varano De’ Melegari in the province of Parma. A tour in
Italian, led by the director, would cost only 5 euros per person, so
I signed us all up, including new friend Michele Jones, who has come to Italy
for a few months to work in the Gray’s church in Padova.

Tullio shows us the large trays where the evening milk separates.

We left Montecarlo at 7 a.m. for a
two-hour drive. It is important to view a cheese factory in the
morning, because that’s when most of the work is done. Our GPS led
us astray once, and we arrived a half hour late, but it didn’t
matter. We were greeted by Tullio Ferrari, and we asked if he was the
boss, the capo. “No, sono il risponsabile (the
person in charge).” We shouldn’t say he is the capo
because that’s what the heads of mafia families are called, he
explained. Tullio provided us with cups of espresso while we donned
sanitary gowns, gloves, hair coverings and face masks to prevent any
contamination of the caseificio, the dairy factory.

A modern spino in the hands of a skilled worker.

The first written records of the famous Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese come from the 13th century, when it was
called “caseus parmensis,” but in all likelihood, it’s history
long precedes that era. Cheese is mentioned in the Old Testament at
least five times and is also found in other books of antiquity. In
the last 100 years, the Parmigiano-Reggiano process has become much
more formalized and controlled. Now, Tullio’s factory is regularly
inspected by experts from at least four levels of government, as well
as those from a cheese-making consortium. Times, temperatures and
sanitary standards must be strictly observed. Inspectors may come at
any time. “Here, we are nobody, but we’re never alone,” Tullio
joked. He apologized for the factory noise, but he added that “we
we can’t stop for even a minute.

Milk in one of the large flat vats.

The real process had started the day
before, when the cows were milked and the milk was left to rest in
large vats overnight. During this time, the fatty parts, which are
later used to make butter, rise to the surface and are skimmed off.
When the morning milk arrives (the Caseificio’s 225 cows are milked twice daily, and
each cow has her own milking stall and machine), it is combined with
the evening skimmed milk and poured into large copper
cauldrons—caldaiae—shaped like upside-down bells. We saw
six of these cauldrons in use, each with about 1,100 liters of
milk, and Tullio explained that the milk had been placed in each caldaia at intervals. That means that the
workers have about ten minutes to work with each caldaia before moving
on the next, and then starting back at the first caldaia for the next step.

Six large cauldrons are filled each morning,
365 days a year.

With the milk heated to around 33 to 35
degrees Celsius (91-95 F), a “starter” whey—rich in natural
enzymes and lactic acid bacteria, and obtained from the previous days
processing—is mixed in. This can roughly be compared to adding
yeast saved from an earlier batch of bread to new bread dough,
because the old has the right bacteria needed to initiate chemical
reactions in the new.

Then natural calf rennet is added,
which makes the milk begin to curdle after about ten minutes. While the
history of cheese-making predates recorded history, anthropologists
speculate that cheese was accidentally discovered when people used
cow bladders, the source of rennet, to transport milk; the rennet caused the milk to turn to cheese. Once the curd
began to form, we watched the workers break it into tiny granules about the size
of rice grains using a spino. Now this is a modern-looking tool, but
a spino was once made from a tree branch with many small branches
protruding from it, Tullio said.

Solid granules of cheese are captured in a muslin cloth.

The curd is then cooked at the
temper-ature of 55 degrees Celsius (131 F) and left to settle for
about forty-five minutes to an hour. At the end of this process, the granules
sink to the bottom of the caldaia and aggregate into a single mass.
After about fifty minutes, the mass is extracted with skillful
movements into a muslin cloth and cut into two sections. Each section
is put into a stainless steel cheese mold, which gives it the
characteristic wheel shape.

Fascia marchiante

After a day or two, the cheese is removed
from the mold and wrapped with a casein plate—the fascia
marchiante—which will stamp each cheese block with a sort of
identity card which shows, among other things, the date made, the
factory number, from which stalls the milk came and even how long it
took to make the cheese. “By our rules, the process can’t take
more than two hours,” Tullio said.

Cheese molds with salt brine baths in the background.

Each wheel of cheese is then put into a
brine bath to absorb salt for twenty to twenty-five days. After
brining, the cheese is transferred to an aging room, where it must
remain for at least twelve months and sometimes as long as 70 months,
my favorite part of the process. The wheels are positioned in rows
upon rows twenty shelves tall in a tranquil but incredibly fragrant
storeroom. Each of them weighs about 38 kilograms (84 pounds) and
takes about 550 liters of milk to make. They gradually turn from
creamy white to straw yellow, and they have more in common with gold
than just the color. A full wheel currently sells on Amazon for
$1,110, and the longer they cure, the more expensive they are.

Cheese wheels 20 shelves high.

The two things I loved about the aging
room: The deep, pungent, mouth-watering odor, and the amazing robotic
machine that constantly cruises the room, reaching out and lifting,
flipping and rotating each wheel of cheese every seven days while
also cleaning the shelves. Tullio said that when he started working
in the caseificio at age 14, he had to do this work himself. “I was
three times as big then from all the lifting,” he said.

The cheese-flipping robot at work in the background.

After the experts of the cheese
consortium examine each wheel to determine its quality—they weigh
it, examine its surface and rap on it with a special hammer and
listen to the sound it makes—the wheels that pass the inspection
receive a certificate of guarantee and are fire branded to show the meet PDO (protected designation of origin) standards. Cheese aged
for eighteen months instead of twelve can receive the higher marks of “extra”
or “export.” Cheeses that don’t meet the standards must have
all the marks and dotted writing removed by a grinding wheel.

“At times, I am ashamed to call
myself Italian,” Tullio said. “But knowing all that goes into the
making of this cheese—the high standards, the careful quality
checks, the long history, the worldwide fame—I can be proud to be
Italian.” In fact, Tullio’s farm won a Gold Medal for the third
straight year in the 2015-16 World Cheese Awards contest in Birmingham,
England, held last November.

On the way out, we passed Tullio’s
son, who was making ricotta, but we didn’t stop to see the process.
Tullio said he was “ashamed to say that we make a much bigger
profit on ricotta,” which can be manufactured and sold almost immediately.
“Within 48 hours, we can turn a profit,” he said. “It actually
subsidizes the production of Parmigiano-Reggiano, which takes years
before we can make a sale.” The farm also produces butter,
mozzarella, yogurt, caciocavallo and some other types of cheese I
have not tried.

Two workers pull out the cheese granules. What remains is whey, but nothing will go to waste here. Some of the whey is
used again the next day. The rest of it is used to make other types of cheeses and even as an ingredient in sports drinks.

I know I said the aging room was my
favorite, but perhaps a close second was the tasting room. It is
nothing special in itself, except that we could eat all the samples
we wanted of various ages of Parmigiano-Reggiano. I could already
smell the odors of the aging room clinging to my clothes when I walked
into the tasting room. After handling and tasting the cheese, my
hands smelled of cheese for hours afterward, and the taste of the
samples lingered on my tongue. Of course, we bought three large
pieces of cheese, as well as butter and yogurt, so I will enjoy the
memories of this tour for months to come each time I unwrap and cut
off another slice.

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About Me

First off, before you hassle me about our title, Lucy thought of it. Yes, I know some people may think broad is derogatory, but the etymology is uncertain and she doesn’t find it offensive, and it made me laugh. We have been married since 1974 and are empty-nesters now, which allows me to bring my submerged Italophilia into the open. We first came to live in Italy from February-April in 2011 and have returned during the same months every year. From 2011-2015, we lived in San Salvatore, at the foot of the hilltop city Montecarlo, where my paternal grandparents were born, raised and, in 1908, married. In late 2015, we bought a home in Montecarlo. We come for a variety of purposes: We want to re-establish contact with distant cousins in both Nonno’s and Nonna’s families, we want to learn the language and see what it is like to live as Italians in modern Italy, we like to travel and experience different cultures. Even if we aren’t successful at achieving these purposes, we love Italy and enjoy every moment here, so there is no chance we will be disappointed. I am grateful to God for giving me a wife who is beautiful, clever, adaptable and willing to jump into my dreams wholeheartedly.